


You See It, Right?

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [40]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Feelings, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Romance, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 02:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington rankles at his orders, and Ambassador von Steuben is alarmingly observant.





	You See It, Right?

It's taken the Nelson five days to reach their destination. Tomorrow morning Washington will beam to the surface, along with the unwieldy diplomatic team and his own security force. There is no rational reason for him to accompany the assembly to the surface, but he's somehow not surprised at his orders.

Braddock would never consider something so wholly unnecessary, but Dinwiddie has been trying to push Washington into a diplomatic role for years. Any excuse to shove him into the vicinity of first contact or peace negotiations—he isn't shy about his machinations—and no amount of pushing back seems to dissuade him.

Washington has no intention of joining the Diplomatic Corp, and if he could avoid this assignment he would.

Tempting as it is to make his way to the officer's mess tonight—Hamilton may well be there despite tomorrow's early departure—Washington directs the turbolift toward his quarters. He needs rest, or he'll risk beaming down to the planet distracted. Even during his briefing with the admirals and Ambassador Jay, Washington's attention threatened to wander.

He can't afford to be distracted. There is no such thing as neutral territory in this sector.

Even the planet on which the treaty negotiations will take place is a hard-won compromise, populated and surrounded by contentious factions. Peace in the region has been a fluctuating shambles for centuries, and even with his own high-level clearance Washington suspects there are layers of hostility he is not privy to. The Nelson's security team will be a necessary precaution, whether or not Washington's own presence will prove any help.

The turbolift stops near engineering, and Washington stands straighter as the doors slide open. His posture eases when he sees who is standing on the other side.

"Colonel Hamilton," Washington says, watching his boy step into the lift. Hamilton's eyebrows rise, but he makes no comment on the needless formality.

"Sir," he greets Washington in return as the doors slide shut.

The computer pings, waiting for input from the lift's new occupant. Even with Washington's destination still programmed in, the turbolift won't move until Hamilton announces where he is going.

But Hamilton doesn't say a word, and for several seconds the two men stare at each other in helpless stillness. This is the closest they've been to truly alone for weeks—since before Hamilton's injury and Washington's temporal quarantine—and it's maddening. They are not truly alone. Washington can't simply deactivate the turbolift to hoard this fleeting contact; such an action would be far too conspicuous.

The silence continues—Washington himself frozen and unable to interject—until Hamilton says, "Did you request my presence on the planet?"

Washington blinks and processes the question. It's a plausible assumption if Hamilton has received the full mission briefing. It also feels like an accusation, even though he's quite certain his boy doesn't mean it that way. The idea that Washington would allow his personal wants to hold such careless sway over official decisions…

It doesn't paint a very flattering picture.

"No," Washington answers. "Braddock insisted. You've apparently impressed her one too many times. Starfleet command has noticed you."

"Oh." Hamilton looks both pleased and discomfited by this information.

The truth is, Washington was not pleased when he read the admiral's mission assignments. Worse, the planet will not be especially safe. There's a reason the Nelson is being ordered to send along a sizable security team, and Washington would just as soon know his boy will be safe aboard ship for the duration.

But there's also no point borrowing trouble, and Washington sets all these worries aside for the time being. If he cannot change the arrangements, at least he can enjoy the knowledge that Hamilton will be close at hand.

Before either of them can say another word, the lift doors open and von Steuben strides in, taking up a position beside Hamilton and glancing between the two officers with a far too knowing look.

"Good evening, gentlemen," von Steuben says brightly. "How unexpected, to run into you both here."

If his expression is knowing, his tone is downright pointed. Still jovial—Washington detects no malice in the words—and yet von Steuben may as well have announced, _I see right through you. I know what's going on_.

The implication ignites anger, incandescent beneath Washington's skin, and only long practice lets him measures his tone and answer blandly. "Good evening, Ambassador." He offers nothing more than that. He is not interested in conversing.

Von Steuben must take the hint, because rather than pressing forward with small talk he shrugs and says, "Computer, deck twelve."

The computer beeps in answer, but the lift still does not move.

Hamilton's eyes widen as he belatedly proclaims, "Deck ten," and the lift hums hum to life.

It's Hamilton's destination they reach first, and the flustered colonel departs with a polite nod to both Washington and von Steuben. When the doors close once more, von Steuben's eyes find Washington's, and the ambassador is smiling.

Washington's jaw clenches and he does not speak.

"He is a talented officer and a lovely young man. One could hardly be faulted for growing attached."

The muscles in Washington's neck twinge with the effort of keeping still. "Whatever you are suggesting, Ambassador—"

Von Steuben takes a step back and raises both hands in a placating gesture—but he must not be especially cowed, because he sounds perfectly calm as he interrupts Washington's sharp voice. "I am not suggesting anything. Merely observing some of Colonel Hamilton's many merits. Believe me, General, I have seen nothing untoward."

 _Then how do you know?_ Washington wants to demand, but he bites his tongue. Such a retort would only confirm von Steuben's sly observation. The last thing he wants is to provide concrete proof of his indiscretions.

"Goodnight, General," von Steuben says brightly when the lift doors open again. He offers a civilian's farce of a salute, stepping into the corridor and vanishing from sight.

Washington shakes his head and forces air into grudging lungs—forces himself to breathe—as the turbolift carries him forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Shy, Shambles, Incandescent


End file.
